


No Stag Required

by ddagent



Category: Holby City
Genre: Bachelorette Party, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Morning After, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 22:13:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15082832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ddagent/pseuds/ddagent
Summary: Serena Campbell wakes up with a headache, no memories, and a half naked Bernie Wolfe beside her.





	No Stag Required

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Holby City or any of its characters, or its settings - all belongs to the lovely folks at the BBC.
> 
> So this was written waaaaaaaay back during NaNoWriMo last year and I've finally got around to editing and posting! Huge thank you to Igerna for the notes and last minute handholding: you rock!

Serena Campbell had attended several hen parties in her life. Most were an excuse to get rip-roaringly drunk on cheap cocktails whilst playing with sex toys in a public space. Her first as the bride-to-be had been a rather sombre affair; pitiful in comparison to Edward’s drunken binge. Ellie, therefore, had decided to make the most out of her second. Afternoon tea at _The Fairfax,_ followed by a bar hop across Holby city centre. Glitter, penis straws, 'L' plates pinned to the back of her blouse. Serena had rather preferred Bernie’s suggestion of a wine tasting followed by a five course dinner at their favourite Italian restaurant. She wasn’t twenty-five anymore, after all. But Ellie had disagreed.

“Bloody Elinor,” Serena hissed as she woke the next morning, her whole body _aching_. It was as if she’d gone three rounds with a heavyweight champion. Not that she could remember such a fight; or much of anything at all, really. What had _happened_ last night?

Easing herself onto her back, Serena tried to orientate herself. They were back at _The Fairfax;_ the letter head and printed room service menu indicating as such. But she couldn't remember getting back from the bar; couldn't remember very much after Sian had bought a round of neon green shots. Serena _did_ have a vague memory of two hands fighting over a key card to gain entry to the room. Wincing, expecting the worst, Serena looked across the other side of the double bed. She immediately huffed out a sigh of relief. _Bernie._ Just Bernie. Despite them both having their own rooms, it didn't surprise her that they'd ended up together. Ever the army medic, Bernie wouldn't have left a soldier behind.

Serena stared at her best friend snoring softly under the sheets beside her. Blonde curls were splayed across the pillow; glitter stuck to her cheeks and eyelashes. _If only the F1s could see you now._ She was tempted to twist a curl around her finger; to touch the lines of Bernie's face. But she resisted. _Let her sleep._ No doubt Bernie had had quite the night keeping her out of trouble, as was her responsibility as maid of honour. No doubt she'd have to do the same at Serena's wedding to Robbie.

Serena’s stomach swam, then; bile rising up the back of her throat. She took sips from the glass of water beside the bed, struggling to remember where the paracetamol was. Groaning, she made a vow never to drink again. “Bloody Elinor.”

After cursing her daughter a few more times, Serena reached for her phone. Still remembering very little, she hoped something on there would fill in the gaps. There were a couple of texts from Ellie asking where she’d got to, did she get lucky (wink emoji). Serena fired off a quick text informing her that she was back at the hotel and hoped Elinor was too. Along with a few texts from Sian (exhibiting a similar line of questioning to her daughter), there were also a handful from Ric Griffin, of all people.

_I think it’s brilliant!_

Do you?

_Absolutely. You both deserve to be happy, Serena._

_What the-_ Before Serena could scroll up to find out what Ric was talking about, a voicemail notification popped up. _Robbie._ She pressed play. “ _Hi, Serena, it’s me. Listen; give me a call back when you get this. You sounded really funny on the phone last night. I’m sure it was just the Shiraz, but I’d really like to hear from you. Love you.”_

“Bloody Elinor.”

Serena continued her investigation; searching her photo gallery and finding a stream of incriminating pictures. There were several of Serena herself getting a lap dance from a stripper; several of her NHS colleagues waving silicone dildos in the air; and more than a few of herself wrapped around Bernie Wolfe. In more than one photo she was in Bernie’s lap! _Bugger._ Her friend was not nearly as tactile as Serena; had nearly bolted when Sian had tried to put a sash around her neck. When Bernie was finally awake, Serena would make a lengthy apology. She feared it wouldn’t be her only one.

First, however, she needed painkillers. After stumbling her way to the bathroom, Serena flicked on the light and was met by harsh fluorescents and a persistent buzzing. She swallowed the paracetamol dry and stood, swaying slightly, in front of the mirror. Her hair was sticking up at right angles. Make up, expertly applied last night, was smeared across her mouth and eyes. A purple bruise was blooming across her collarbone. The blouse she wore was missing several buttons. Thankfully her lingerie – dark purple and _very_ expensive ­– was still in one piece.

Rubbing her eyes, Serena tried to recall exactly _why_ she was wearing such luxurious underwear in the first place. Robbie was at his own stag do; he wouldn't get an eyeful until the wedding night. Of course, Serena was no stranger to wearing expensive things to please herself. But it just struck her as… _odd._ She decided to blame it on her daughter. Why not?

As she stepped out of the bathroom, there were two raps at the door. Serena glanced down; quickly realising she was in nothing more than her underwear and half a blouse. _Where were the trousers she was wearing last night?_ Putting that thought to one side, Serena snatched at a robe hanging in the nearby wardrobe. She wrapped it tightly around herself before answering the door.

A gentleman from the hotel staff stood, bright smile despite the hour, beside a small cart. “Good morning, Ms Campbell. I have your breakfast order?”

“I-“ _Bernie._ Must have anticipated her need for coffee and pastries. “Of course, come in. Just be quiet; my friend is still sleeping.”

The young man nodded, tiptoeing across the carpet, as he brought in their order. He deposited two covered plates of food; both smelling of freshly cooked eggs and bacon. He also left a small cafetiere of coffee and a plate of warm pastries. Serena grabbed a pain au chocolat and began to nibble at the sides. _Glorious._

“Do I need to sign anything?”

He nodded, pulling out a small bill. “Just to say you've received it. Your partner dealt with the bill when you both returned last night.”

 _Bernie._ Serena could see a very large bottle of whisky in her future. “Thank you very much.”

"You're very welcome. I'd just like to say, on behalf of myself and the rest of the staff _,_ it's been an absolute pleasure hosting you and your party here at _The Fairfax_. We wish you and Ms Wolfe all the best with your upcoming nuptials."

The pastry turned to mush in Serena's mouth. She swallowed. "I'm-I'm sorry? Bernie's not…she's my… _Bernie is not my bride._ "

The young man paled. "My apologies, Ms Campbell. We just assumed…" He bowed his head. "I'll leave you to your breakfast."

Serena ushered the young man and his cart outside, sagging against the doorframe when she was once again alone. _All the best with your upcoming nuptials. We assumed._ Serena choked back a laugh. Just because two women happened to share a hotel room, neither of them wearing much clothing under the fresh linens, did _not_ mean they were together! And of course, just because they _arrived_ together. In the same car. Serena carrying Bernie's luggage because of her back. Bernie pulling out her chair during afternoon tea. Serena leaving an imprint of her lipstick against Bernie's cheek before they went out to paint the town red. But _none_ of that meant they were together!

A flood of memories came rushing forward. The two of them, limbs entangled; lips hot against each other. Pressed against the glass walls of the lift. In _full_ view of the staff on the concierge desk. _That,_ oh god _that,_ suggested they were together.

 _Oh God._ She couldn’t blame that on Elinor.  

There had been the bar. Then the taxi ride with Bernie's hand on her thigh. Snogging in the lift. Fighting over the key card as she was pressed into the doorframe. Serena could now see the path they had made towards the bed. Her trousers were under the desk; Bernie's shirt lying across a lamp. Socks and Bernie's bra atop the small settee. Serena closed her eyes but she could still see it all. Fingers tugging at fabric; buttons popping off in all directions. There was even one by her suitcase. The suitcase she was going to take on her honeymoon with Robbie.

Opening her eyes, taking it all in, Serena realised two things: one, that things between herself and Bernie were not as firmly in the past as she had thought; and two, that Bernie was awake and had been for some time.  

Bright eyes found hers, just for a moment, before they snapped shut. "No use pretending, Bernie."

"I disagree."

Serena snorted. She loved Bernie dearly but Afghanistan had never left her: she would always rather bury herself in the sand. There was no use pretending last night hadn't happened. They worked together; Bernie would be standing opposite Robbie in the registry office, for _fucks_ sake! So Serena stood her ground. No pretending, no escape. Bernie had to face the music just like her. After a few moments, the bed sheets began to stir; accompanied by the pop of Bernie's joints. Like Serena, Bernie was in a state of disarray. Eyeliner created dark rings around her eyes. There were lipstick smudges, Serena’s shade, across her jaw and neck. Bernie would barely meet Serena's eye.

"Did we sleep together?"

"No." Bernie's tone was firm; offering no room for doubt or misinterpretation. But it didn't make Serena feel any better. "We kissed. _A lot._ And we wanted… _but we didn't._ "

Serena laughed. This one night could sum up their entire relationship. A passionate kiss in theatre. Both wanting but nothing _happening_. So Serena had packed off her best friend with a kiss to the cheek and a Ukrainian phrase book; hoping the time apart would repair the fractures to their friendship. She'd reconnected with Robbie in her loneliness and he'd proposed after a cancer scare. She'd accepted two days after Bernie's return. Things had got back to normal after that. She and Robbie eating curry and having sex. She and Bernie drinking Shiraz and saving lives. Everyone had their role. Everyone had their part to play.

_I want you to be both, Bernie. My best friend, and my partner. I don’t want to marry Robbie. I want to be with you._

Before the taxi had been the bar. The bar where she'd become frustrated by people referring to Robbie as her _soulmate;_ by speech after speech about how they were _made for each other._ She had gone outside for some fresh air; found Bernie sneaking a quick cigarette. Those familiar eyes were big and damp. Serena had asked what was wrong and Bernie had said the words that had changed _everything._

_I thought going to the Ukraine would help me forget how I felt. But you were all I thought about. Still are. I love you, Serena Wendy Campbell. Please don't marry Robbie._

"You should marry Robbie," Bernie said, still unable to meet her eye. "You love him; this was just…I don't know. But we don't have to talk about it. We can pretend it never happened and Robbie never has to know. We can just go back to-"

"-why is it always _your_ choice?" Serena said; slamming her palm against the desk so hard the cafetiere shook. _Enough was enough._ "Bernie, I can't go into a marriage with someone after having confessed my love to someone else on my hen night! I care about Robbie. But you… _Bernie,_ I loved you last year when you said we should keep things confined to theatre. I loved you when you came back from Kiev determined for us to remain friends. I loved you last night when the only time any of it made _any_ sense was when I was with _you._ Even when I pictured my future with Robbie, you were _always_ there."

“Whenever I imagined your future with Robbie, he always ended up in some horrible car accident.”

Shaking her head, Serena crossed the room to join Bernie in bed. She pushed their foreheads together; relishing Bernie's slight intake of breath as they touched. They had never been done; never been over. It was always going to be _her._ They just had to stop playing silly games and make that leap. Smiling softly, Serena teased the curls she had spied earlier; dragged her thumb across the curve of Bernie's cheek. Her eyes now met Serena's. Before, of course, they disappeared to the fullness of Serena's mouth. Bernie tasted of stale fags and premium whisky; her lips warm but dry. She pulled Serena close; her chest heaving after they parted. This was the sight, the smell, the taste that Serena wanted to wake up to every morning. Go to bed with every night.

"I'm tired of _let's pretend._ I want to do this for real. What do you say, Bernie? Do you want to finally give us a shot?" 

“ _I do_.” 

\--

Serena Campbell had attended several hen parties in her life. Most were an excuse to drink champagne in the middle of the afternoon whilst having unfiltered discussions about sex. Her first was a quiet piss up in London with Sian and a few friends. The second was a drunken mess, ending with Serena in bed with the maid of honour. The _third_ was in a vineyard in France, the night before her wedding. She drank a bottle of Shiraz and danced under the stars until her feet hurt. It was supposed to be her last night of freedom. But, as she told anyone who would listen, Serena had never been so happy to be tied down. 

Bernie was the _one._ No stag required.


End file.
